


Hallelujah

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger Management, Angst, F/M, Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: Everyone is a bit broken after the war, but no one more so than George Weasley. Hermione Granger may be a close second.





	Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any profit from this story. Thanks to my betas, 89JadedPictures and RooOjoy for their immense help with this!

**_Well I’ve heard there was a secret chord_ **

**_That David played and it pleased the Lord_ **

 

They buried Fred next to the pond behind The Burrow on May 6, 1998.  In addition to a gaggle of Weasleys, a small contingent from the Order of the Phoenix attended, along with a varied array of the twins’ friends.  The wards were set to keep out the press and gawkers.

 

Alicia Spinnet surprised most of the gathering when her clear, strong voice broke out in a sad ballad while Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Ron lowered their brother into the earth.

 

George’s choked sobs were constant from the beginning of the ceremony until the end of Alicia’s song.  His cries to the Lord above abruptly stopped with Alicia’s final chord, and the silence felt oppressive.  All eyes were on George, wondering, waiting.

 

The sorrow was swiftly replaced with anger.  George picked up a clod of dirt and threw it violently atop the casket.  And then another, followed by another.  He fell to his knees and scooped dual handfuls, throwing them both at once.  He went to do so again, but instead had his arms pinned to his side by Molly as she knelt beside him, engulfing him in a hug.

 

All Hermione could think was how much Fred would loathe being sent off this way.  Where were the pranks or the fireworks?

 

**_But you don’t really care for music, do you?_ **

 

“No, I refuse to accept it.  I don’t care what they say, I want to go there.” Hermione sobbed on Ron’s shoulder, Harry seated on the other side of her, sandwiching her into a supportive hug.  Her eyes were red, her face was blotchy, and her hair was a fright.  There were piles of parchment and crumpled up tissues all over the coffee table.

 

Harry hesitantly said he would accompany her to Australia, _if_ she could find someone to verify there was the barest chance the Memory Charm on her parents could be reversed.  As it stood, the Ministry in Australia had verified they’d tracked down her parents and sent a Senior Healer to surreptitiously run diagnostics on them.  All evidence pointed to the impossibility of Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins ever regaining the memories of Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

 

Ron straightened up, gently grabbing her by her upper arms to force to look him in the eye. “Right.  Hermione, you start writing letters to anyone you can track down in the Australian Ministry or at their main hospital who may be sympathetic.”

 

Ron’s eyes moved from Hermione’s to look over her shoulder to the dark-haired wizard. “Harry, I want you on the Floo talking to Saint Mungo’s and our Ministry, but save Kingsley as a last resort.  Your face will get through to the correct people the quickest.  I’m gonna go see Bill and Fleur, they may know someone in the curse breaker community or France we could consult.  Then, I’m gonna Floo Charlie - see if he knows anyone anywhere.  He’s been in hospitals all over the world with work injuries.  He once said he can probably say healing spells in more languages than most British citizens can cast in English.  Let’s see if we can find anyone willing to offer additional opinions from, well, somewhere.”

 

Ron’s rally resulted in a few days’ worth of frenzied activity.  Calls were made, meetings were scheduled; every night found Hermione dreading going to sleep as the rejections stacked up - her nightmares were always filled with her unresolved fears.  One night, she stood witness to rogue Death Eaters tracking down her parents.  Another, she dreamt of a future where faceless curly-haired children never knew their grandparents.   On the last night before she gave up hope, she dreamt she found someone who said yes to her, only to have the spell backfire and her parents end up next to Neville’s in the Janus Thickey Ward.  The next morning, she sent an owl to Harry and Ron, telling them she no longer wanted to go to Australia.

 

**_Well it goes like this:_ **

**_The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift_ **

**_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_ **

 

Over time, Hermione came to realize each of the Weasley brothers had his own complex regarding his lot in life.  Ron was in no way unique in feeling inadequate or jealous of his siblings.

 

Bill, as the eldest, resented his younger siblings getting an easier time of it.  He continuously brought up examples of the ways Molly and Arthur had been stricter with him, getting progressively laxer with each child.  The weight of responsibility thrust upon him at an early age never fully dissipated.

 

Charlie spent years making excuses for his career choice, pushing back against both the obvious disdain of his parents, as well as some of their more passive aggressive tendencies.  It didn’t help matters that his mum went barmy for babies and, for various reasons, he never planned to father one.

 

Percy held the unfortunate distinction of being born third, behind a pair of brothers who naturally fell in together due to age and shared interests.  He vaguely remembered being excited for a new little brother to play with, thinking they would partner up like his older brothers.  But, out came two, a ready-made partnership.  His loneliness calcified.

 

Fred and George came fourth and fifth, sharing everything, even an identity.  Their over-extended parents treated them as a single wizard at times, not bothering to even tell them apart.  And if you can confuse two entities for a single one, then why not occasionally forget that both exist?  George and Fred may have passed it off with a sarcastic quip at the time, but neither ever fully forgave the slight from their mum when Ron got Prefect.

 

Ron…  Let’s not rehash his insecurities again, shall we?  Pages have been written on it.

 

Ginny once summed her brothers up succinctly when she noted that they each had moments when they failed one another in that spectacular fashion of which only family is capable, as well as moments when they lifted one another up in ways no one else could comprehend.

 

Yet, Hermione watched as Fred became deified while George was ignored.  And so, Hermione took it upon herself to check in on the wizard who was no longer part of a whole.  A man now baffled by his own existence.

 

She watched a shell attempt to carry on his business.  Where two had been one, now one tried to be two - inventing, scheming, and putting on a show for the world.  When the curtain came down each night, the actor retreated to the sofa in his flat above his chosen stage, and drowned himself in alcohol.  Hermione would often find him passed out in the living room, an empty bottle nearby, and a notebook filled with writing.

 

The witch wasn’t proud of what followed.  She read it.  Every time.

 

There were ideas for potions, for charms, for inventions, for pranks.  There were also letters penned to Fred.  She read every word he composed and never told a soul.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

George survived the first Christmas without Fred.  Hermione slipped him a Sober-up Potion the moment he walked into his parents’ house the night before.  When he drank enough that Christmas Eve to necessitate a second, she slyly slid it into his hand without anyone else noticing.  He found another waiting bedside with his gifts Christmas morning.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

George didn’t open the shop on the first of April, 1999.  Hermione discovered him in his flat, lying passed out atop a pile of Fred’s clothes.  When she went to move him, he awoke screaming at her to not take away the last things he owned that still smelled like his brother.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

When the second of May, 1999 rolled around, Hermione showed up at George’s flat in a ballgown, a bottle of firewhisky in her hand.  She asked if maybe he could do a shot or two with her for courage before she had to attend the asinine Ministry memorial.  She and Ron had tried to date; they’d lasted nine months, awkwardly giving it a go.  She couldn’t bring herself to ask a random bloke to be her date for this event; she was attending solo.

 

George was already in his cups, but was more than happy to toss back the expensive alcohol she’d splurged on.  George slurred out how beautiful she looked just as she was getting into the Floo to leave.  She didn’t hear him over the roar, and he didn’t remember saying it the next day.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

The Weasleys gathered next to the pond on the sixth of May, 1999 to introduce Fred to the newest member of their family, little Victoire, born just four days earlier on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.   George marked a year since he last saw his brother.

 

**_Well your faith was strong but you needed proof_ **

 

On the seventh of May, 1999 Hermione made a decision.  After a year of doing so, she would no longer be enabling George’s alcohol problem.  In fact, she was going to prove to him he didn’t need alcohol to survive.  She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to do it, but her ludicrous title of “Brightest Witch of Your Age” must be good for something, yeah?

 

She Floo’ed into George’s flat early that morning to find him in his typical position of passed out on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket from Fred’s bed.  She took a deep breath, whipped the blanket off, and cast an _Aguamenti_ to wake him up.

 

As he coughed out a series of swear words at her; she calmly ignored him to walk into the kitchen.  She proceeded to _Accio_ every bottle of alcohol in his apartment to her, and she dumped every drop down the drain.  In his still drunk state, it took him a minute too long to realize what she was doing.  He came stumbling in just as she opened the final bottle.

 

**_You saw her bathing on the roof_ **

**_Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya_ **

 

George Weasley’s anger was a terrible thing to behold.  And Hermione found herself taking the brunt of it that first day, and again, and again during the days that followed.

 

George tried putting charms on his hidden bottles to make them unsummonable.  She overcame them.  He tried hiding them in other places besides his flat, like his shop and the treehouse in his parents’ orchard.  She followed him, discovering all his secret places, and every time she stopped him from drinking, he ranted and raved at her until he was hoarse.

 

Hermione discovered George could be quite creative with his words.

 

George tried sneaking away to pubs, but slowly the wizarding ones were all refusing to serve him anything stronger than butterbeer.  Each time Hermione came to collect him from whatever barstool was holding him up, he had to cross another establishment off the list.

 

The day he discovered he no longer could get a drink anywhere in Wizarding England, Wales, Scotland, or even Ireland, he Floo’ed into her flat, unannounced, ready to give her yet another piece of his mind.  He’d braved Muggle London to drink a few pints to fortify himself for the confrontation.

 

Crookshanks, her damn demon of a familiar, came running immediately, twining himself in and around George’s ankles, trying to trip him, obviously with the intention to maim or kill.  George called Hermione’s name, but didn’t receive an answer.  He slipped his wand into his hand, holding it loosely by his side.

 

Using his ankle, the wizard pushed the evil lord aside, receiving a swipe of claws and growl in return.  Crooks gave a meow and ran towards Hermione’s room with his bottlebrush tail straight up in the air.  George followed.

 

He heard the singing then, coming from her open bathroom door.  He knew he shouldn’t just walk in, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.  He found her in the oversize tub, surrounded by lit candles, Muggle headphones in her ears, singing along to a tune.  Her head was leaned back against the lip of the tub and her eyes were closed.

 

How could she possibly be thin enough for her clavicles to be so pronounced?  It felt wrong to let his eyes trail down to her chest, yet they moved that way of their own accord.  If he could see that many scars above the water, how many more were below?  His mouth went dry as remorse flooded through him.  This strong, brave witch was wasting her time and energy on _him._

 

**_She tied you to her kitchen chair_ **

**_And she broke your throne and she cut your hair_ **

 

He managed to dodge Hermione entirely for two weeks after _that night_ , when he snuck back out of her flat, undetected.  George continued to make his way out to Muggle London via the Leaky, using pounds he obtained in exchange for Galleons at Gringotts.

 

He learned to order stronger Muggle alcohol than a pint of the house ale.

 

George blocked all Floo access to his flat and set up anti-apparition jinxes.  After Hermione stopped being able to get into his flat, she began trying to intercept him in the shop.  Each time, as soon as he caught sight of her, he practically jogged to the back room or up the stairs, putting up wards to avoid her.

 

She captured him one day in spectacular fashion, firing a stunner, then levitating him into his office.  The store went quiet, with everyone, including the employees, gawking.  No one made a move to stop _The War Heroine_ _Hermione_ _Granger_ , though.  She buried the searing guilt that accompanied any mention, or even thought, of that title – guilt regarding things she couldn’t change – along with a smidgeon of a power rush.  She shut the door, and attempted to arrange his lanky body comfortably in the chair behind the desk.  She knew better than to leave George’s wand in his pocket.  She placed it within his sight, but not his reach, on the desk.

 

An _Incarcerous_ tied him to the chair before she countered the stunning spell.  She expected his usual barrage, but he remained with his lips pressed together.  His face showed a mixture of anger and guilt.  She took a moment to really look at him.  He looked like shite.  His appearance hinted towards him living on nothing but alcohol and potions.  He’d blocked Floo access to his mum, too – it was possible he was eating nothing more than the crisps offered by barkeeps.

 

His hair looked mangy and his robes were disheveled beyond what could be expected from her accosting him.  The hair she could fix now, easily transfiguring a pair a scissors out of a quill on his desk.

 

She cried silent tears with George as she cut his hair, knowing it wasn’t only a way to hide the lack of an ear, but also a way to pretend he could see Fred when he looked in a mirror.  It occurred to her too late that she may be overstepping her boundaries.  She wasn’t trying to take something from him or make him forget – she’d been trying to help him remember who _George_ was.

 

**_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_ **

 

When it was done, she warned him that he had better allow her up to his flat, or she’d be back for a repeat performance.  “Fuck you,” was his reply, the first words since she walked in the door that afternoon.  Not that she had been expecting a “thank you” or anything close to it.

 

But the cold anger in his eyes was something she’d never seen from George before.  She managed to make it out the door and Apparate home before the panic attack overtook her.  Crookshanks served as her anchor, letting her pet him for as long as she needed, smoothing his face against hers, his loud purring overpowering the sound of her lingering hiccoughs. 

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

The next day she sent Ron in her stead, hoping a new face would gain different results.  Ron showed back up at her place barely fifteen minutes later, vowing never again.  He’d screamed out in agony as she worked to remove the porcupine quills from his arse which George had charmed against being banished.  She informed Ron he should rejoice over the silver lining of the puncture wounds responding to Dittany.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

****

Two days later she sent Ginny.  The youngest returned even quicker than Ron.  George had threatened to set a charm upon her that would cause her to moan uncontrollably every time she mounted a broomstick.  That might make trying out for a professional Quidditch squad tricky.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

Hermione thought she was pulling out the big guns when she sent in Molly.  The threat of his mother’s howlers proved effective back at Hogwarts.  The young witch also thought it would do the elder one some good to stop avoiding her son.  When she too came back without results, Arthur rubbed her back in soothing circles, telling her at least she tried.  Hermione watched Molly’s spine straighten and considered this a partial victory.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

Angelina’s simple hug and a sigh of, “Oh Georgie,” began a dialogue again.

 

**_But baby I’ve been here before_ **

 

George wasn’t sure how it happened, but Angelina always just seemed to _be there_.  She was on the reserve squad for the Tutshill Tornadoes, with conditioning in the mornings and practices in the afternoons when it wasn’t a game day.  Yet, the witch found a way to bring him breakfast most days and show up at his shop door just as he was locking up.

 

**_I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor_ **

 

George let Angelina join him in his pub crawls.  She made sure he found his way home sooner and closer to sober (not by much, though) than he’d done on his own.  Somewhere along the way, she began to spend the night.

 

Hermione quickly found something wrong with each wizard she attempted to date.  Terry Boot was too much like her - who wants to date themself?  Dean Thomas was a lot of fun, but it appeared that Seamus was a bit of package deal - either they would meet up with him at a pub as the evening went on, or go back to the flat the two wizards shared to find him on the sofa waiting for them.  Theo Nott shocked the witch when he asked her out for a lovely dinner - _The Daily Prophet_ caught wind of it and photos were featured the next morning with a scandalous headline, and Hermione had no desire to see a repeat of Fourth Year.

 

**_You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya_ **

 

George awoke one morning to realize months had passed.  The shops around his were decorating for Christmas.  Angelina’s toothbrush, hair products, and make-up took up a sizable portion of his bathroom counter.  Her clothes had a spot in his cupboard.  When had she moved in?  How long could he go through life in this haze?

**  
_And I've seen your flag on the marble arch_**

 

Hermione watched as George allowed Angelina to become his caretaker.  When Hermione sat alone in her flat thinking about him, she felt foolish, and couldn’t figure out why.  Hermione had been the one to owl the quidditch player to ask for her help.  She should feel happy for George.

 

When she saw him out, with Angelina on his arm, still smelling vaguely of alcohol every time, she felt angry.  And jealous, but that was something she couldn’t, wouldn’t, admit to herself.  The anger was familiar.  It had been a constant companion through the years, with so many targets to call its own.  She was comfortable letting the anger seethe inside.

 

It was Ron who pulled her aside during a family gathering to tell her that the victory flag Angelina had planted was more vulnerable to theft than she realized.

 ****  
_And love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

 

George appeared at the front door of Hermione’s flat one evening just after the New Year, asking if she could talk.  He sat down at her kitchen table, cradling the cup of tea she’d brewed him.  He wasn’t sober, but he wasn’t completely pissed either.

 

“Angelina told me she loved me.  I told her she loved Fred.  She cried and denied it, but the way her eyes flicked to my missing ear spoke volumes.”  He stared down at the tea he held as he quietly talked.

 

Hermione’s jaw ached and her tongue throbbed from the force exerted by her teeth biting down on it as she kept her mouth closed.  She kept inside the barrage of words wanting to escape.  Now was not the time to tell George that a woman who enabled his alcoholism couldn’t possible love him enough.

 

Tears slipped down George’s face as he whispered, “How do you compete with a dead bloke?”  His eyes finally came to meet hers, finding compassion.  She reached across the table, tugging one of his hands off of the warm mug to grasp it in hers, and he broke into sobs.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

George spent the night on her couch, exhausted by the emotional outpouring.  Hermione awoke in the morning, wondering what it all meant _for them._   She discovered it meant nothing when instead of a sleeping man, she found a note on the coffee table asking, no, more like demanding, she keep the fact he’d come to her a secret.  He wanted to see if maybe this was a misunderstanding with Angelina.

 

“Shite!” she shouted as she picked up his empty teacup left behind on the table and chucked it against the wall.  She considered she may need to see someone about her anger issues as she waved her wand to vanish the shards.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

“Here’s the name of my Mind Healer,” Harry said as he scribbled a name on a piece of parchment for Hermione.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

Being sober was bloody hell.  Being sober and alone on Valentine’s Day was worse than hell.  George had asked Angelina to move out just two days prior.  What everyone around him seemed to realize months ago finally become clear to him – Angelina was enabling his addiction.  He felt guilty, he was sure she was dealing with problems of her own, stemming from the same loss he still felt acutely every day.  There was nothing healthy about their relationship, and for the first time in a long time he yearned to be healthy.  “Bloody hell,” he moaned, running a hand through his long hair.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

“Wankers,” George muttered, forehead pressed against the window, looking down onto the revelry in the street below his flat.  He’d been foolish to believe being sober and alone on Valentine’s Day was difficult.  Standing in his dark living room, watching everyone get pissed around him on Saint Patrick’s Day was far worse.  He heard his Floo go off.

 

“Are you home George?” came a voice.  He turned from the window to see Hermione’s silhouette, lit up from behind by the light on in the kitchen.  “I brought dinner,” she said, as she stepped closer.  “Why are you in the dark?”

 

“Lumos,” George murmured, not needing his wand in hand for the simple spell.

 

He realized she was holding a bag of Indian take away and a couple of chai teas from his favorite spot for curry in Muggle London.  He hoped she’d remembered he preferred duck over chicken as he inhaled the heavenly scent.

 

“I figured you couldn’t get much further from Ireland than India,” she said with a slight shrug and a small unsure smile on her face.

 

“I know we haven’t spoken in over two months…” she began, before she trailed off, uncertain of where to go with the conversation.  She’d planned out a speech.  This was like a scene out a nightmare – she had forgotten everything and was going to fail.  It was reassuring to discover the resurgence of more benign nightmares.

 

Being caught tongue-tied did not sit well with the witch.  George saved her from what could have grown into a moment of anger with herself or even a panic attack.  He smiled his disarming smile and quipped, “Well, then it’s a good thing you showed up with food, yeah?”

 

She took a deep breath, silently counted to ten, and released it, using a technique from her Mind Healer.  She managed a flippant reply, “Yes, I’m brilliant like that.”

 

**_Well there was a time when you let me know_ **

 

“I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m thinking about asking out Hermione.”

 

George’s fingertips traced the top edge of the rough stone standing sentinel over Fred.  He imagined his brother’s response in his head with a smirk.

 

“Yes, that Hermione.  How many Hermiones do we know?”

 

He cocked his head, listening to the inner voice again.

 

“I know,” he sighed.

**  
_What's really going on below_**

 

Finally working up the bollocks, George asked her out, attempting to make it very clear that it was a date, not wanting there to be any misunderstanding of what he desired.  He’d stammered his way through it.  At the end, she was staring at him.

 

“Really?” she’d questioned, raised brows accentuating her disbelief.

 

“Really, you berk,” he broke the tension.

**  
_But now you never show that to me do ya_**

 

He was in the shower, replaying their fourth date in his mind, as his soapy hand moved slowly up and down.  He still hadn’t told her about the time he saw her in the tub almost year ago; he probably never would.  It didn’t matter now though, since he had legitimately seen her breasts.  Looking down at his hand as it moved faster, he thought about the possibility of her deciding to show him the rest of her body later that night.

 

Hermione didn’t know how to bring up George’s notebooks to him.  She thought about it while choosing lingerie that was _meant to be seen_ for their date.  She hadn’t caught sight of the notebooks in many months, not since he started up with Angelina.  Did he still have them?  Did he continue writing in them?  What did he write?  She desperately wanted to read them again.  She hoped if she was patient enough, she would never have to tell him what she had done.  This time, she wanted to wait until he was ready to show them to her, to offer her a glimpse into his soul.

**  
_But remember when I moved in you_**

 

Their fifth date ended up with Hermione crying out George’s name as she moved above him.  Her body stilled, frozen in her ecstasy, and he pushed his hips up roughly just a few more times before he fell over the cliff with her.

**  
_And the holy dove was moving too_**

 

The second of May, 2000.  George stepped out of Hermione’s Floo in a set of rich plum-colored dress robes, ready to escort her to what Harry worried would become an annual event.  Hermione’s dress shimmered with the colors of a forest floor – mosses and lichens.  The couple contrasted each other nicely.

 

Her eyes lit up when she noticed his fresh haircut.

 

Noticing where her eyes were drawn, “You can just call me Dove,” he smirked.

 

“The Holey Dove.”

**  
_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_**

 

George started to see a Mind Healer, too.  Not the same one as Harry and Hermione.  Andromeda Tonks apparently gave him a name on a sunny afternoon as Harry slowly flew his broom just a few feet off the ground behind the Burrow, with two-year-old Teddy tucked securely in front of him.  Breathing without the help of alcohol became easier.

 

Hermione still found breathing difficult at times.  Whether it was waking up panting from a nightmare, feeling like she couldn’t breathe as a panic attack threatened, or counting her breaths to stave off the anger.  She noted that after two years, each of these episodes came with longer intervals between them.

 

George stopped breathing the first time Hermione whispered, “I love you.”

 

Their deliciously sore, sweaty bodies were twined together and her head was pillowed on his chest.  She’d been looking at some point across the room, but angled her head up to look at his face after the words left her mouth.  He rolled his body out from under her, so they were both on their sides looking eye to eye as he let out the puff of held air.

 

“I love you too,” he whispered back as he leaned forward to kiss her.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

The couple learned what each other’s screams in the nights meant.  It became difficult to hide the terrors that still haunted, would probably always haunt, their dreams, when they spent nearly every night at her flat.  Her flat, never his.  He told her it was because of the fiendish overlord that _owned_ her life, and she allowed him to use Crookshanks as a cover.  After all, it was true her familiar could turn rather nasty when he wasn’t fed perfectly on time and given enough cuddles.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

“First it was my and Fred’s place. Then, for a few months, it was Angelina’s too.  I don’t… I can’t…” he cut himself off with a quiet growl, not knowing how to articulate his thoughts on the matter.  His head was laid back upon the arm of her sofa and his eyes were closed.  He felt too vulnerable to look her in the face.  She held his feet in her lap and slowly rubbed first one instep, then the other as he lie there quietly.

 

“I don’t think I want to live there anymore,” he finally admitted, with his eyes still shut.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

“How about if I help you pack it all up?  We’ll have boxes labeled for donation, boxes labeled to come to here, and boxes labeled for the attic at your dad and mum’s?”

 

George was sitting at her table drinking a butterbeer, the only alcohol he allowed himself these days.  Even then, he limited himself to a single bottle.  He gave a small shrug in response to her.  Hermione stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

 

“We can invite anyone else you want to come help, too.  Throw a bit of a party afterwards to say goodbye.  Maybe set off a few fireworks?” she cajoled.

 

“Yeah, fireworks would be good,” he said as he toyed with the nearly empty bottle in front of him.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

Just before Christmas 2000, they cleaned up the flat above 93 Diagon Alley in order to turn it into a rental.  One box of items made its way to the Burrow and four boxes made their way to Hermione’s.  In one of those boxes were notebooks.  George would offer her the chance to read them at her leisure over the next few months.  The remainder of the items from the flat were donated.

 

**_Maybe there's a God above_ **

 

“This is how I imagined Fred’s funeral should have been,” Hermione whispered to George as they watched the fireworks Lee set off once the flat was emptied of its belongings, and instead filled with family and friends.  Everyone had moved to the street to watch the show, drinks in hands, and laughs falling off of lips.  The couple stood with their arms wrapped around each other.

 

George heard her, but wasn’t sure what answer to give.  He tightened his arms as he craned his neck back to watch the light show above them.

 ****  
_But all I've ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya_

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day love,” George called as he walked out of the Floo with a large bouquet of Gerber Daisies he’d charmed to sparkle and play her favorite Muggle love song when she touched them.  He was smug, sure his present would be a hit.

 

“I’m in the bedroom,” she called back.  He walked in to find her standing nervously in the center of the room, sporting a supremely undersized Hogwarts uniform, complete with a Gryffindor tie and a shiny Prefect badge.

 

The redhead licked his lips, “Shite.”

 

“Language, Weasley,” Hermione admonished, gaining confidence when she noticed his pupils dilate.  A frown graced her lips.  She drew her wand and tapped it against her thigh as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth while she contemplated him.  “We need to discuss your detention for testing out products on first years.”

 

**_And it's not a cry that you hear at night_ **

 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck…  Yes…  Jesus.”

 ****  
_It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

 

“No way,” he shook his head at her.

 

“If you can have all of your various “Holey” titles, why can’t I have this one?  It’s just an idea, something to work towards.  Someday,” she said.

 

“My only issue with it is that I’m having trouble picturing myself married to the Minister of Magic.  I mean, I’ve never seen myself as particularly political.”  He gave a casual shrug and watched her reaction to his comment out of the corner of his eye.  Her eyes lit up and a smile tugged at her lips.

 

Rather than pushing the subject, he turned to his usual coping mechanism. “I guess every queen needs a court jester.”

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

On the first of April, 2001, a pop sounded atop Fred’s grave just as the sun was rising.  George knelt down and opened the little box held in his hand to show off the engagement ring he planned to use later that day to ask Hermione to marry him.

 

**Hallelujah**

 

On the sixth of May, 2001, the family gathered once again.  There weren’t any new babies to show off to Fred, although the size of Fleur’s stomach proved there would be next year.  Four witches stood with new engagement rings upon their fingers, the promise of even more nieces and nephews unspoken.

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

On the sixth of October, 2001, Hermione and George said, “I do.”

 

**_Hallelujah_ **

 

On the twentieth of January, 2003, Fred Gideon Weasley II entered the world with a hearty cry.


End file.
